


Property Rights

by ChampagneSly



Series: Blue Tulip Verse [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pornstars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Soft Sell. The founding of the Amsterdam HQ's and Francis continues to wrap his new partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Property Rights

The champagne was very good, effervescently complex, cool and French as every fine thing would have been had he been in charge of writing the rules of the world. The afternoon sun poured in through the windows and warmed his bare feet, toes arching indulgently into the rays that pierced the haze of smoke that wreathed lazily around him, making him feel that if he were seated somewhere more comfortable than a bare wood floor he would have curled into his satisfaction and purred like a contented cat.

As it was, Francis was not terribly inclined to do more than remain in his precisely careless sprawl on the floor of what would be Jos’ office in soon to be home of the Blue Tulip Studios. He was waiting for the man behind it all to come through the door and find him here, smoking his cigarettes and wasting money on such frivolities as champagne as he read idly through the newly minted agreement that made his less than welcoming place of repose Jos’ property.

He knew that Jos would likely be less than thrilled to see his recently acquired partner making himself quite at home on his office floor but, oh, that was entirely the point. Had the man in question not made off with the mysterious and beautiful woman that Francis was almost certain was a sister, he would not have had to resort to making his back sore from sitting without cushion and he could have played his hand with much less discomfort and far greater alacrity.

‘But perhaps this was even better’, Francis thought as he pushed his reading glasses up his nose and let another mouthful of his country’s loveliness run down his throat. He magnanimously decided to forgive Jos his sudden disappearance on the grounds that it had given him more time to reflect and remember, to plot and plan, to think very carefully about what it was he wanted to do, what it was he wanted to get from this scene he set.

It had also freed him up to purchase the sinfully good champagne and do a little light contractual reading, which he considered his most sincere and solemn duty as it was his masterful work that had provided the capital needed to make such an extravagant purchase. As he struggled to keep his eyes open while they skated over dull terms regarding the non-negotiability of the transfer tax, Francis thought of the afternoon he had returned to their cramped and ugly office in Paris to find two tickets to Amsterdam and an Excel sheet covered in the bold black numbers of profit wrapped around a copy of  _Hundred Year’s Whore_. He remembered the way his delighted laughter had echoed off the walls of the old Blue Tulip Studios when he realized that it was in fact the very same copy, the first imprint of the film that he had handed to Jos over dinner, filled with satisfaction and certainty that this was his masterpiece, “a porn to remember,” the one that would put him into the pantheon of adult film stars and put the Blue Tulip on the map.

Francis knew it was the closest that Jos would ever come to saying “thank you.”

And when he opened the case to find such wonderfully telling fingerprints on the DVD, Francis slid another piece into his slowly growing and still far too empty puzzle of Jos.

He had not expected that the success of the film would mean a move, but, upon reflection, he supposed that he should have known that Jos would always return to what was familiar to him, what he felt was his own territory and position of strength. At the time, as he’d just slid the DVD across the table and clandestinely tried to wrest the bill away from Jos’ hands  _(Francis loathed the gaucheness of this going “Dutch” that Jos insisted upon!)_ , and thanked Jos with a slow curving smile and warm voice for having trusted him with what funds they had to make this film.

Francis set down another page of the contract, struggling through the technicalities of real estate transactions in a language other than his own, wondering if Jos had any inkling that he fully intended  _Hundred Year’s Whore_  to be his last film.

And what a film he had made! Francis reflected with no shortage of pleasure, a true magnum opus of porn; the finest introduction to the special kind of fantasy world that would be the hallmark of the Blue Tulip: history and nationality made sordid and wonderful and irresistible.

(For all of which he was the patron saint and he fully intended to see them all worshipped, revered, and sold to the highest bidder).

He remembered insisting that Jos run home immediately and watch, watch the work that his investment had made possible, flirting shamelessly as he insinuated that even Jos would find something to tempt his cold, implacable heart in the forty-five minutes of Francis making love through war. But what he remembered most, what he recalled with impeccable clarity was neither Jos’ bland approval of the speed with which Francis had produced the movie nor the derisive dismissal of his innuendos.

No, what lit him inside with warm curiosity (and roused him even now) was the way those long and lovely fingers had traced over the tiny, almost unnoticeable, logo of the blue tulip on the lowest corner of the case and the way those cold, calculating eyes had gone hot and revealing for the briefest of moments.

It was the same look that Francis had the pleasure of witnessing earlier that afternoon when Jos had stood in the empty hallway of the new Blue Tulip and signed his name on the deed that made these bare walls and stark rooms his and his alone. Francis had watched that too rarely seen hidden smirk of satisfaction crawl over Jos’ staid face as he carefully put pen to paper and claimed ownership. Francis was offended and aroused to find that Jos bore the same fleeting expression of raw passion when making real estate deals as he did when had come so deep and hard inside Francis all those months ago.

For a brief worrying second, Francis had wondered if the agent would be able to pry the original from Jos’ hands, if he would be able to convince the intimidating new owner of this fine commercial building space that the copy would have to suffice for his records.

He had wanted to tilt up that jaw and memorize the curve of that telling smirk with his lips, wanted to feel with his hands and tongue the thrill that he knew raced under Jos’ skin and press him against the wall of his new independent republic of porn.

All things in good time, Francis supposed as he shifted his weight on the floor and idly contemplated how he would kindle that light in Jos’ eyes, how he would with his own words and wiles conjure that same smile for his own leisurely exploration.

Francis set down the deed and admired the precision of Jos’ handwriting, the firm lines he made whenever he dated a document as though he couldn’t imagine being anything less than resolute when affixing his name to something.

To claiming something as his.

He wondered when Jos would come back, wondered how much longer he would have to wait here with his slowly warming champagne and stiffening back while Jos doubtless commandeered his poor potential sister around Amsterdam.

Once the agent had left (with original deed clutched between his hands), Francis had been eager to float on the lingering air of self-satisfaction that trailed in Jos’ wake and wrap them both within it until they were feeling satisfaction of another sort entirely. His plans had been unexpectedly derailed by the appearance of this mystery woman with her lovely features and kind smile that seemed to cause his partner an amusing degree of consternation. Jos had immediately, and with great annoyance, hustled her out the door and away from Francis’ curious view as though she were too innocent to be sullied by someone like Francis.

‘Well,’ Francis thought with mirth, ‘that was very likely true.’

“What are you doing in here?”

Francis smiled slowly as the low, irritated voice interrupted his reverie, and without turning around, held up the second glass of champagne that had been waiting untouched for so long.

His eyes widened in momentary surprise when a hand appeared at his other side, drifting so close to his head that Francis had a fleeting vision of Jos pulling him by his hair, and how marvelously alluring that would have been if Jos had been such a man to lose control so spectacularly.

He curbed that wild flare of lust when long fingers plucked the stolen cigarette from his hand and Jos appeared before him, as handsome and stern as ever and in no danger of doing something as ridiculous as threading his fingers in Francis’ hair and pulling.

All good things come to those who wait, Francis reassured himself as the thrill of a new chase pooled in his veins, warming him as much as the sight of Jos leaning against the wall, taking heavy drags on the smoke that had so recently been between his own wet lips.

He returned Jos’ irritated stare, smiling with insouciance, “Your sister is very pretty.”

Ah, he loved watching Jos for that tiny flinch of surprise when he was forced to remember how very clever and observant an often flirty and flighty Francis truly was. He liked reminding Jos that there was no secret that could be kept so easily.

“I suppose my sister is attractive enough,” Jos grumbled, though Francis gleefully noted the  _my_ , the easy way in which Jos dictated that which was his, even as he pitied the poor girl for being saddled with such an overbearing and frigid brother.

Jos put out the cigarette on the heel of his boot and fixed Francis with what Francis was sure was an intimidating stare, asking again, “What are you doing in here?”

Francis shifted on to his knees, leaning forward to press the champagne into Jos’ hand, murmuring, “Celebrating, of course.”

“Waste of time,” Jos shot back even as he brought the cup to his lips and drank deeply.

“Mmm,” Francis said, shaking his head and looking slyly at Jos, “But you do so want to be celebrated.”

Jos snorted and looked away, “Hardly.”

‘Such beautiful lies,’ Francis mused as he watched the working of Jos’ jaw as he swallowed, wondering if Jos even realized how much he stock he put in leaving a visible mark of himself on the world.

He shrugged and settled back on his heels, gesturing delicately at the empty room, “As you insist, of course. Regardless, I wanted to appreciate the view from your office.”

With wary curiosity Jos looked at him once more, “You can’t see out the window from down there.”

“Always so prosaic!” Francis teased, arching his back as he stretched, “I meant to imply I wanted to experience the boss’ office, to sit in the seat of power before the space becomes more permanently occupied.”

He watched avidly as Jos cast his gaze around the room, delighting in the possessive narrowing of Jos’ eyes and the loosening of his almost permanent frown.

A strange aphrodisiac to be sure, but Francis was never above exploiting any of the most mundane and dull of interests for his amusement.

Or to mix a little business with pleasure.  
  
He slid the glasses from his nose, setting them down slowly over the last page of the deed scattered around him, affixing Jos with a mournful look and a pretty pout.

“It’s a shame I won’t be around to see your office decorated,” Francis sighed, feeling the sudden weight of Jos’ heavy and alert stare, “I am sure you’ll do something lovely to the place while I am off recruiting.”

“Recruiting?” Jos asked sternly and Francis could already see the wheels of calculation turning in his mind.

“Of course,” Francis answered lightly, pouring himself more champagne, “You need more actors for your studio to be a success.”

Francis continued after Jos gave him the smallest of nods, “Now, I’ve already managed to lure away Feliciano, Heracles, and Antonio from La Moulin, but…”

“Antonio,” Jos spat, interrupting Francis with his vehemence, “I don’t want that lazy, irresponsible, waste anywhere near my venture.”

Francis swallowed his amusement and a fleeting urge to point out that it ought to have been  _our venture_ , as that would have lost him the game before he’d even really had a chance to play his best hand.

“Don’t worry,” Francis purred soothingly, “I’ll keep Antonio in line. I’ll keep all of our future little Tulips in line.”

Francis felt cock stir when Jos looked at him with that considering gaze that always told him just how interesting and appealing Jos found him when he was at his manipulative best.

“How?”

“First, and most importantly, you’ll run a legitimate business that takes the sordidness out of pornography as employment. The best of the best will want to work here. And then you’ll be yourself, of course, stern and intimidatingly unyielding. And they will all look to me, their flighty, friendly director that always has their best interests in mind to guide them gently down the path of stardom and profit generation. I’ll be Big Brother France to your Big Bad Wolf.”

“Perfect.” Jos favored him with a hot look, lips tilting upwards as though he tasted something delicious. Francis thought he could almost see the profit margins in Jos’ eyes as he drank champagne and smirked at him.

Francis laughed lowly, peering up at Jos through the fan of his eyelashes, flirting as Jos appreciated the twisted machinations of his mind. He wondered if Jos knew he was currently ensnared in one of Francis’ traps, unsure of whether it was more delightful if Jos did know and was still playing along so beautifully.

“But first I need to find you handsome and virile stallions for your shiny new stable,” Francis said as he shuffled closer, once again going up on his knees to pull the glass from Jos’ hand, “And so I must leave this lovely new office you’ve purchased and go out into the vast unknown to find the talent that will replace me on screen.”

Jos’ brow furrowed and Francis wanted to lick away the unnecessary annoyance that marred like a red arrow of loss, cutting Jos off with a sigh and the soft touch of his fingers at the curve of his waist, “I’m done making films. _Hundred Year’s Whore_  has set the stage for everything The Blue Tulip can be and I’m ready to create your adult empire on the foundation of that film, but this time I will be the architect of the fantasies, not the builder.”

“I see,” Jos answered, voice giving away nothing as he stiffened under the teasing of Francis’ fingers as they dragged across the front of his pants.

Francis licked his lips and titled his head, flush with excitement and arousal, peering up into that inscrutable and alluring stare, “Trust me, trust your artistic director. I will make the Blue Tulip brand, your brand, something worthy.”

Francis’ breath hitched and his dick hardened when Jos’ eyes flared with heated interest, feeling his lust and amusement overtake him when Jos murmured, “Not our brand?”

And for that Francis could not help but tangle a hand in Jos’ shirt to pull him down into a searching and searing kiss, wanting to consume the lie from Jos’ mouth, to taste those words with his tongue. As he kissed and bit and licked his way through the wariness of Jos’ startled desire, Francis wondered if Jos thought that he meant such things, that his mind didn’t even know the lies it told, that perhaps he believed that he truly thought of Francis as an equal, though the grasp of the hand on his shoulder and the glint in his eyes gave away the true intentions of his greedy, possessive little heart.

The word  _our_ held no truth for a man like Jos who thought in facts and figures, and Francis delighted in the way Jos’ fingers and lips told him that behind such lovely platitudes, Jos was always, always plotting and planning for how to use his every asset and tool to his benefit.

Francis included.

He could feel Jos’ arousal pressing into his chest when he finally released Jos from their kiss, sighing happily around the truth that he had wrested from Jos and taken between his lips and enjoyed so thoroughly. As he undid the fastens of Jos’ belt and buttons, Francis cast his gaze upwards, catching the barest of hint of self-satisfaction and determination in Jos’ face…a brief moment of true feeling revealed before Jos closed his eyes to Francis’ curiosity and rested his head against the wall.

Francis hummed and undid his own pants, spreading his knees on the ground, assured of his own impending victory.

He would see that look in those eyes again.

It amused Francis that for all Jos disparaged romance and indulgence as that which was impractical, unprofitable, and unless, he seemed in no great rush to tell Francis to move on from his slow and lingering exploration of the hot skin of his thighs or the defined ridges of his hips.

Jos’ fingers remained splayed over Francis’s shoulders as Francis pressed his mouth to the delicious spot where hip met leg and bit down, hands running over the firm curve of his thigh, touching everywhere but the hard cock that brushed against his heated check while he kissed his name across the tautness of Jos’ trembling stomach.

If the shake in his legs and the soft echoes of sighs were anything to go by, Francis had to assume that Jos was not opposed to sensuality, to the slow seduction.

Another tiny piece to the puzzle, as fascinating as the others, and Francis had to wonder as he exhaled hot and long over the head of Jos’ cock, if Jos wondered why it was he had given in to Francis’ advances. If he knew himself well enough to know what was fact and what was fiction.

With infinite gentleness, Francis sighed and let his tongue slide through the wetness that had gathered at the tip, letting one hand fall between his own legs while stroking the other lightly, so lightly up Jos’ thigh. He kissed his way down the length of Jos’ cock, a barely there touch of his mouth to the heat of desire, fingers whispering between Jos’ legs, behind the heavy arch of his dick to tease and torment.

And when the first of Jos’ hands tangled in his hair, (finally, finally), Francis smiled and peered up at the frustrated clench of Jos’ jaw and his still closed eyes, pushing his lips around Jos’ cock and moaning breathily. He took his dick in hand, stroking himself idly, knowing that his own pleasure was secondary to the wonderful web he was weaving around Jos as he took him deeper into his mouth, pressing his tongue against the slick slide of a heavy cock.

He humored Jos with his hands and his lips for several long moments, tracing tongue and fingers from the salty warmth of his thigh to the head of his cock and then swallowing him deeply enough that he knew his voice would have that tell-tale rasp once this spell was broken and they were back to words and not touch and taste for their transactions.

But when the second hand joined the first in twisting and pulling at his hair, trying to wrest control from him, Francis was ready to receive his prize, ready to get what he had waited for all afternoon on a hard wooden floor.

He used just enough teeth to make Jos curse and open his eyes, hazy with lust but sharp and aware as ever as they glared at Francis, blue and beautiful in their desiring irritation. Francis smiled around Jos’ cock as he met that stare with hot invitation and wanting, spreading his legs wide enough that Jos couldn’t help but see the slow movement of Francis’ hand stroking in time with the slide of his lips and the twist of his fingers on Jos’ dick.

He watched as Jos gave himself away in the smug twist of his lips and that shine in his eye that spoke of his pleasure at having staked a claim, as though he owned this moment and Francis’ pleasure as rightly as he owned the walls and the floor of the room that contained their sighs.

_Yes, yes…all of this too is yours._

_Because I make it so._

With the timing and control born of years of experience, Francis let his eyes widen as he held Jos’ gaze and came over his fingers; spilling out his pleasure and sighing prettily over Jos’ cock, opening his throat to welcome the unrestrained jerk of Jos’ hips. He drank in the wild flare of heat over Jos’ cheeks as he watched Francis’ come slick his fingers. He celebrated the sound of harsh, rasping, breaths as Jos started to lose control, fingers tightening painfully in his hair and hips moving with ever greater speed.

In the fleeting seconds that he let Jos fuck his face, Francis wondered if perhaps he should let Jos come over him. He discarded the idea for another day, knowing that if he played his hand so obviously, Jos would begin to suspect that Francis was testing him, teasing out all his little secrets simply because he could, because Jos was too challenging and fascinating to leave entirely untouched.

Instead, he swallowed Jos as surely as he had swallowed his lovely lies earlier, holding Jos hips steady as his legs started to shake, pressing him against the wall as he came with a muffled groan between Francis’ lips.

As his cock slipped from his mouth, Francis pulled his hands away, letting Jos slide down the wall until they were finally eye level, pressing hot kisses to Jos’ rare expression of relaxation and total blankness, tasting the lazy satisfaction of his short breaths, kissing him deeply one last time, too delighted that he had been the one to put such a lovely look on such a stern face to resist partaking in the spoils of victory.

 _My own masterpiece_   _slowly revealing itself to me_.

Francis stood, buttoning his pants and straightening his shirt as he listened to the slow quieting of Jos’ breathing, smiling as he walked softly away, leaving Jos with that which belonged to him.

An office, a copy of a deed, a half-finished bottle of champagne, and the shape of things to come.


End file.
